


the rumble where you lay

by Mia_Zeklos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Codependency, ETA after the finale: this is essentially canon-compliant now and I'm losing my mind, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post CURRENT canon as per 8x02 just to clarify, Post-Canon, Purple Prose, Sacrifice, Sibling Incest, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Wrote This While Dreading The Oncoming Doom, as of this morning now that 8x03 has aired, it's all very 'with you till the end of the line' you know, or at least the vague notion of thoughts about it, or it could just be that I'm very dramatic; one or the other, when the GoT screenwriters are cheerier than you are you know something's wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mia_Zeklos/pseuds/Mia_Zeklos
Summary: "By the time Jaime makes it near the edge of the crowd, the Queen is already halfway through her speech."(Or, Jaime returns to King's Landing for negotiations and finds exactly what he's hoping for instead).





	the rumble where you lay

**Author's Note:**

> /Title taken from [here](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=pi6pLTrx94Q) because of course it is/
> 
> I... have no explanation, excuse or even a coherent plot when it comes to this, really. All I wanted was Lannister angst. It's just already the point in the season when it's sinking in that my favourite characters are going to die and it's probably not going to go the way I imagine, so I might as well do my own thing. This will probably go canon divergent as soon as 8x03 airs in a few hours, but what can you do. I apologise for any potential mistakes - this was finished and proofread on my phone because I just wanted it out _that_ much.
> 
> All that being said, I'd love to know what you guys think and feedback is always welcome!

By the time Jaime makes it near the edge of the crowd, the Queen is already halfway through her speech.

He’d been hearing bits and pieces of it on his way here, by the mouths of nobles and commoners and the wind carrying her words to him alike. Everyone is huddled under their warmest clothes as they repeat key parts to one another and in the heart of it all seems to be the general impression that, ‘we need to run’. He’s glad. He’d been the only one (apart from Jon Snow, as usually accompanied by his relentless desire to get his head cut off) to volunteer coming into the city, both to inform Cersei about the steadily approaching threat and ask about her intentions regarding the dead – there’s not much she can do for the people running towards the city for refuge anymore, but she can at least try and put an end to it. Once he’d elbowed his way to the front of the mass gathered around the improvised platform taking everyone’s attention, it seems to him that he might not even need to request a private audience. It’s not going to stop him from doing so, of course, but this is a start, judging by the way the stage is set.

It _is_ a stage, there’s no doubt about that – the Queensguard is only presented by an essential number of men, Qyburn is standing a little to the back, his expression forlorn, and Cersei’s in the middle of it all, right on the edge of the raised, cut-off cube they’re all positioned on. Unprotected and open, with her head held high, easier to reach than ever before despite the dark, heavy gown and the crown in her hair. _If someone wants her dead, now would be the time,_ Jaime thinks, but his terror evaporates as soon as it’d come – no one would, unless they’d want her to make her look like even more of a martyr – and just like that, he knows exactly what kind of spectacle this particular stage is set for.

“—the Iron Fleet at my disposal, and I urge you all to follow this advice as soon as possible,” his sister is saying, her smile impossibly sweet as always, and Jaime can see the enchantment it casts over the fickle crowd. Had the circumstances been just a bit less terrifying, he wouldn’t have been able to stifle his laughter. “The Iron Islands will hold until the threat is destroyed, I can assure you of that. It bears repeating, of course,” she adds and the smile is rueful now; a tearful goodbye without any of the crying, “that King’s Landing is our last line of defence. Should the enemy breach through our walls, anywhere else is safer, across the sea or not. For the good of us all, the battle should be contained lest it spreads across the realm. Our armies shall defend the city as well as the always have. As your queen, I will personally ensure our success by remaining in the Capital as long as needed.”

This earns her a mixed reaction and he notices Cersei’s eyes subtly sweep across the square, assessing every face and, no doubt, finding precisely what she’d been hoping for. There’s fear, of course, and apprehension to go with it, but Jaime can sense the awe taking over everyone; can hear the cheers and cries, can see the calculating gleam under Cersei’s humbled silence and, deeper below, the triumph and resignation freezing their way through her veins as she waits out the storm of emotions that surrounds her.

“May the gods be merciful,” she finishes with another grateful look over her subjects and steps closer, nearly within an arm’s reach now. Jaime tenses, but not a single person moves as she paces past them, making sure to include everyone in her farewell. “And may the news of our victory reach you soon.”

With that, she basks in the dread and adoration at her feet for a few more precious moments, squares her shoulders, gathers her skirts and turns briskly on her heels, marching towards the Red Keep as soon as she makes her way out of the charred remains of the Sept of Baelor.

It’s a beautiful goodbye, Jaime has to admit, the relative calmness from before morphing back into fear once he realises the implications of it. Not just a goodbye – it’s a beautiful story to tell, too, once the survivors paint this picture of her to the people who would ask them what had happened in King’s Landing. A tragic tale, to be sure, once the one behind it all is gone, and perhaps all the more glorious for it.

It takes him hours to find his way to her. The message had been effective and, to add to that, clearly not the first of its kind – while people are leaving the city in droves already, the streets are a lot emptier than they would have been if the first announcement had just been given. Cersei had slowly been emptying the city for weeks through whatever means necessary, it seems, and Jaime feels the bizarre urge to go back to the Dragon Queen and her army and inform them of that, even though he’s well aware that they would know as soon as the plan achieves its purpose. He’s got nothing left to prove to anybody, but it’s there all the same and he forces himself to keep going. It would be a stupid, petty diversion out of the desire to make a point and there are other – much more important – things that he needs to say before he goes.

It’s a resigned, intrusive thought, but he can’t help himself. If this is it – it certainly feels so – then he’ll have to hurry. The dead must be almost at the gates by now and he’s sure that Cersei knows. And once she knows—Yes, he’ll have to be quick. He’s almost there now and even if she doesn’t want him coming in, the chances of her having informed her Queensguard about that are slim to none. It would make her seem vulnerable, the knowledge of her twin’s departure and how final it must have felt for her at the time, and if she’s kept it to herself, then entering the Red Keep should be a child’s play.

It does turn out to be easy. _Too_ easy, Jaime would have thought if he hadn’t known for a fact that Cersei couldn’t possibly care about security at this point. The halls and corridors are deserted, even more so than the city below, and his path to the Queen’s chambers is blessedly clear. The Mountain’s absence is unsettling after the long time he’s spent as her shadow, but it’s not the least bit surprising – Cersei would have never opted to go through this in front of her lackeys, no matter how devoted.

Of course, if she’d had the last word, she would have likely wanted to do this _alone_ , but Jaime’s memories of the (numerous, given the lives they lead) times they’d spoken about the end are clearer than almost any other. Ever since the loss of their mother and the chaos it had brought into their still fragile minds, they’d promised each other that they would never have to leave the world by themselves. It’s the one oath Jaime would have never broken no matter how complicated everything had become; no matter the distance or resentment that separates them.

He crosses every wall, real or self-raised in their effort to protect themselves, to get to his destination now, feeling more determined by the second. It’s a path he knows well and when he finally pushes the door open and strides inside, she doesn’t flinch.

Jaime falters as he nears her. He’d been so sure of what he’d wanted to say and do, but his sister is so still, barely more than a dark silhouette against the backdrop of the emptying city, that it takes his breath away. He’d expected to find her furious, pacing around her room in an effort to keep the inevitable end out of her mind as much as possible. He can’t say he’s entirely sure what she’s planned, but it’s more denial than a failure of imagination and it’s bound to work better than anything anyone’s got left, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so collected about it. He’d only wished she wouldn’t have—

“You shouldn’t have come.”

She’s yet to face him. Jaime takes another step closer. There’s not much left to say and none of it concerns his decision when it comes to her – _that_ they had covered a long, long time ago and more times than he can easily count. It’s the simplest truth in his world and for the first time in his life, he’s hesitant to voice it.

“I think it should be enough to kill them,” she ventures again at the lack of response, “don’t you?”

“It?” _Say it_ , he urges her. There’s nothing to gain from it, but this will still be more bearable that way, he thinks. It’ll certainly make gauging her reactions easier. It’s ridiculous to think that she might be afraid of him, but it’s still a possibility and it’s not how he wants this to go. It never had been, even with the countless threads that had come undone between them.

“Wildfire.” Cersei pushes herself away from the balcony’s railing to turn and face him. “If fire is enough, then it should. Fire burns through flesh, but wildfire does it through water and ice, too.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” It’s better, likely, but he’s not here to talk about white walkers. “You’re going to burn down the city once they all break through.”

“Yes.”

When she finally catches his gaze again, there’s a frantic glint in her eyes; unrestricted and wild and poison-green like her weapon of choice. She’s _challenging_ him, Jaime can see, and with it comes another realisation – she knows what she wants, but doesn’t want to say it. It’s astonishing, after everything they’d done, to imagine that she thinks it to be enough of a motivation, and he soldiers on.

“Greyjoy’s ships—”

“—are all on their way already, along with the rest of the city. That’s what the dead _do_ , isn’t it, sense life and then snuff it out. If everyone heads for the sea, they would have to get through the city and once they attempt to do that—”

It makes sense; more of it than Jaime would have liked it to, and he dares not ask why she’s still here if the Iron Fleet has already taken off. He dares not ask about the baby either. If she does get out, the life she'll have to live is not one she would inflict on her own child; not again. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to – she keeps going when he makes no move to stop her.

“It’s a terrible way to die, from what I’ve heard.” Jaime nods, throat suddenly tight. “Painless, for what it’s worth, but terrible. Disappearing in an instant as if you’ve never been there at all.” She smiles again and it’s nothing like the theatrics at the square. She’s still just as unafraid, just as determined, but it’s always been different like this – out of sight, in his arms. It’s where she ends up a second later, leaning into him without a second thought once he presses her close. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

“No.” Even the disagreement sounds gentle now; a comfort that they should have never been allowed. “If either of us got what we deserved, we would have never got this far.” And he loves her so much that it hurts, so much that it’s almost hate, and, “It doesn’t matter how this will end; you won’t disappear like _they_ will.” He toys with one of the chains on her dress, more fondness than the distraction he had intended it to be. “Or disappear _at all_ , if you decide to follow your own advice.”

It stings to even offer it, knowing the life waiting for her if she ever reaches the Iron Islands and it shouldn’t a relief when she shakes her head resolutely. It shouldn’t be, but Jaime is beyond trying to pretend that he wants her to live if he doesn’t. His arms tighten further around her when Cersei’s lips curl in contempt.

“And what then? Submit to the Dragon Queen and spend my days in exile? Defeat her, move the capital and rule from the Iron Islands along with _the Greyjoys_ for the rest of my life? Not how I imagine Westeros’s first ruling queen should be remembered.”

“Is setting fire to everything any better?” He lets the incredulity seep into his voice, desperate to hear the response, even if it’s stating the obvious. Even if it breaks his heart as much as it makes it soar.

“In order to destroy the army of the dead once and for all, yes. Imagine that.” She turns to the view in front of them again, satisfied and grim all at once. “It’s a lot more final. A much prettier story, too. Believe me, I’ve had quite a while to make my choice. Unless you’d like to have your own taken away from you, I’d suggest leaving the city before nightfall.”

So this is what it’s about. He should have known. If she’s scared at all, she doesn’t let it show, but in the end – right at the end, at the very edge of the world – it’s always about what she leaves behind, their father’s biggest ambition reborn. Not that it’s got anything to do with Father now – no, this is Cersei through and through, plastering her name all over history for people to fall quiet in front of in the centuries to come. It’s about power and still wielding it long after they’re dead and gone and Jaime resists the urge to laugh for a second time today. If this is what it takes to make her happy, if her only trouble is death by wildfire, then never leaving this tower again is as good as life can get before it ends.

“It does make quite the picture,” he admits and the end is so very close now. If he looks down, he might find the city already swarmed and so he never strays from his sister’s eyes, eager to hold them both suspended away from everything else for as long as possible. “As do we, if anyone’s still watching.”

“They are.” It’s not just fevered belief this time, or a final attempt at comfort – Jaime can imagine them both as if from a distance, gripping the other in their arms desperately as the world catches fire far below them. It’d be worthy of a song, he thinks, if they’re still visible from the sea. Going up in flames isn’t precisely the way most ballads end, but it’ll have to do.

The kiss, when it comes, feels as heated and final and destructive as the fire doubtlessly will. He’s not entirely sure which one of them moves first, but one moment he’s trying to decipher the last remaining unspoken secrets behind her eyes and the next Cersei’s arms are around his shoulders, snaking up his neck just as his good hand tangles in her hair, the golden one digging into the small of her back until they’re pressed so close together that he can feel what little boundaries they have still standing between them melt away one by one. It’s all set up already, he knows, and King’s Landing will be a pile of rubble and dust before morning comes and it makes him shiver; the realisation that even if nothing else remains, it’ll still be their ashes mixed together in the remnants of death’s army when it’s all over. It’s better than anything either of them could have ever dreamt of and he wants— he wants—

They break apart, sharing the breath they have left in the space in-between, and Cersei’s caress on the side of his face disappears, trailing down until her fingers reach his sword and wrap around the hilt, voice softer than silk as she urges, “You’ll have to be the one to do it.”

It takes significantly less time than he’d needed (forever) for the words to break through the haze over his mind and although he’d expected it, the offer – command, really – makes Jaime freeze in his place.“Cersei—”

“You have to.” She’s not begging him just yet, but they’re not too far from that and it’ll be far easier for Jaime to do what she wants him to instead of letting _that_ happen. No one else would know, but it doesn’t matter – it’s so far from the picture of the future she’d just painted for him that he couldn’t possibly allow it. “I’ve arranged everything already. Don’t make me see it happen.”

It’s not the city she’ll mourn for as her own death approaches, he knows, nor any unfortunate soul who might be left behind. It’s this – them – and she can’t bear not being prepared for the end when it comes; not anymore than he can accept that it’ll be inflicted by one of their hands one way or another, and Jaime shakes his head.

The city is quiet now, the last few rays of sunlight stretching out from the horizon to bathe them both in darkened gold. He can’t bring himself to glance away from her. Somewhere in the distance, out of the corner of his eye, he can see a torch being lit and then a flash of green. He hadn’t asked about the mechanics, but a chain reaction would be the easiest way to do it. The light sputters, fades and then explodes in a quiet, brilliant flash before disappearing under the tower it had come from and he knows he’s right.

It’ll be over in minutes, if that. Knowing wildfire – knowing _Cersei_ – it’ll be as quick as possible and Jaime holds her to him so tight that it must be painful.

“Don’t look. Cersei," he persists while she stands transfixed by her realm as it looks from this window one last time. She faces him again, then, and his carress turns gentle, if no less firm. "Look at me."

Cersei's hands are cupping his face again and she's just as insistent as he is; just as ready to latch onto their final anchor to this world. It won't matter before long - whatever it is that happens after they cross the threshold that awaits them, they had always meant to face it together.

"Jaime," she says and he wraps her in his arms as they lean towards each other for another kiss, skin against skin and soul against soul until they're one and whole again. It's just his name - benediction, curse and prayer pouring out as if Cersei's been holding back her entire life and is finally, finally set free - and it's the last thing Jaime hears as the earth shatters below them and the world goes dark. 


End file.
